Jew - Meeting and longing

As I wrote the last sentence, I felt a sharp pain, a sense of longing and weakness.

Should I read this letter, brother?

And before signing, what should I say? This time, I'll write a brave or a stupid word that I've never written before: "With much love." I want to let my heart run wild for once in my life. I want to go crazy for once in my life.

It's not possible, bro. It's impossible.

Sometimes I just use the phrase "With love" or whatever word I use. Finally, I write "With love, ma'am."

I folded the letter neatly and put it in a white envelope, quickly sealing it. Then I carefully placed the envelope in a plastic bag, sealed the plastic, and stapled the edges of the plastic bag in three places with a stapler. It was no longer warm in the rain. The rain that had been falling since morning had slowed down a bit. But it hadn't stopped yet.

Holding my suitcase in one hand and my backpack in the other, I walked out of my room, looking at a photo propped up on a table. Oh, don't take it. It's made of glass, so I'm afraid it'll break. Just stay in the bedroom. It hasn't happened yet. I'll take it. I don't have my brother by my side, but I need this photo. I quickly grabbed it and put it in my backpack when I heard a horn honking from the front yard. I think a taxi has arrived. .

I looked around my room. What else do I need? The doors are securely closed, and the birthday presents for my husband are neatly arranged in the kitchen cupboard. Including this year's gift, they are all for four years. Will the birthday presents for four years be waiting for me? Will the birthday boy get there first and grab them?

I opened my backpack one last time to make sure I had everything I needed before I left. My passport, my plane ticket, my travel permit, my laptop, my favorite photo, and a small scrapbook filled with short notes and pictures. It was all there.

I brought an umbrella, but my hands were too weak to hold it, so I locked the door of the house, pulled the box in my hand, and walked briskly, carrying my backpack on my back. Finally, after locking the gate, I took out the letter from the bag and hung it on the wooden post next to the gate for my brother to see.

Forgive me, brother. Whether you come or not on your birthday, this is the first time I have failed to wait for you at home. If you come this year, please open the door and let me in.

Yes, no one can say that I didn't come.

When Maung arrived, he would turn the four numbers on the lock on the courtyard door and let us in. That number was the year I was born, 1981, a number we would never forget. Once we got to the courtyard, I didn't tell anyone except Maung where to find the house key.

What if my brother hadn't come? The thought made me feel a sharp pain in my heart.

If my brother doesn't come, I will be embarrassed to see that letter when I get home.

However, I would rather cry in shame and pain when I find my letter with no one to read it than have my brother hurt when he arrives with a sense of helplessness because I didn't leave any notice.

Is this love or not? It's just love. --

I'm going. I looked around my small house and said my last goodbye. I didn't get to say goodbye to you, so I'll just say goodbye to your shadow and your smoke. It won't be long, brother. In ten days, I'll be back. As the taxi driver put my bags in the back room, I looked around the dark green leaves, branches, bushes, trees, and flowers around the house with my usual searching eyes. I don't know why I thought that my brother would be somewhere nearby, watching me from somewhere I couldn't see.

Then everything was left as it was before, with unfulfilled prayers, hopes that would make me laugh, and emptiness that would remain.

I want to know. When you left me, did you still feel pain? Did you still hesitate, did you still have difficulty parting? At least a little. I smiled to myself and shook my head shyly, the tears that had gathered in my eyes disappearing.

( 2 )

I could see wisps of clouds floating in the blue morning sky. At thirty thousand feet, the clouds were only a thin layer, far away. But the clouds were still clouds.

I added a few lines to the handwritten note..

“Outside the plane, it’s just a sky. I can see a few wisps of clouds in the distance. The clouds aren’t as beautiful as yours and mine, bro.”

“The cloud between you and me.” I sighed as I stared at my handwriting. The clouds between us were beautiful. Then I crossed out the phrase “The cloud between you and me” with a pen. Then I replaced it with a phrase.

“U Kyaw Hlaing’s cloud paintings,” I corrected. If Maung Thar were here, reading my notes secretly, would he have laughed at me with a mocking laugh? Would he have lied to me? Would he have laughed at me for lying? I felt so insecure that I scratched out the words “your and my clouds” over and over again until they were too dark to read. However, the words that appeared in my mind could not be erased. “Clouds are the spirits of the river seen as vapor.”

What my brother said. What are his own words? He read it in a poem and recited it to me. I was proud of myself for learning to love my brother's poems.

Can't I just get you out of my mind? Actually, the notes I'm writing right now should be about the opening address I'm going to give on July 7th. Or maybe it's about my paper I'm going to read on the 8th, 9th, 10th. Now I'm thinking about you again.

Every time I fly, I think of you. My brother has never flown in a plane in his life. I planned to take him to Bagan by plane once, but he was afraid of flying. In fact, I was more afraid of flying.

I still get scared every time I fly. This time, I'm even more scared because the plane I'm flying on is Air France. In 2009, an Air France plane crashed into the Atlantic Ocean while flying from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, to Charles de Gaulle, Paris. I read that all 216 passengers and 12 crew members on board, a total of 228 people, died.

Our plane could crash at any time. I don't want to die without seeing you again. I want to die knowing that you are living a peaceful and happy life somewhere. Which is more likely to crash on a plane, the one that crashes on landing or the one that crashes just after takeoff? Wait. The Airbus didn't crash on takeoff or just before landing. It crashed halfway through the flight, more than three hours into the journey.

Well, now that I'm on my way back from Frankfurt with Air France, the distance is close. Only 490 miles. The flight attendant announced that it would take about an hour and thirteen minutes. I don't think anything will happen during that time.

Even on the long journey from Bangkok to Frankfurt, nothing happened. On this short journey, there will be no danger.

Every time I went on a trip, my brother stayed behind. If I had to say, depending on the circumstances, age, and job, I was always the one who left and my brother was the one who stayed behind.

There is an invisible thread between me and you. If you can't see it, it's hard to measure its length. Of course, that thread is short. When I go home, I look at your back and it tightens inside me, causing a sharp pain. I think I miss you every time I leave your city, but when I leave thousands of miles away, the desire to hear your voice and see you is immense. The thread between us is tight. However, since I am not the one who left, but the one who is left, I can see that the feeling of missing you is different. When I leave, the feeling of missing you can be controlled with certainty. When I am left, the feeling of missing you is uncertain and unattainable.

It's July 5th, and tomorrow is my birthday. On my birthdays, I usually come to get a gift from you. Will you come to my house tomorrow to read my letter?

I never said happy birthday to you. The day you came into this world was not a happy one. There are not many people in this world who have a sad birthday. That's why I always say to you, "I showered you with love on your birthday, so may you be warm and safe all year long." That's it. I always had to explain to you that love is not love.

The plane was descending low. I thought the plane was about to land.

"Our plane will be landing at Marseille Provence Airport shortly."

The flight attendant announced in French. I could barely speak French, but I guessed and understood some of the pronunciations.

"We kindly ask that you refrain from using computers and electronic devices. We kindly ask that you put the windows back up and return the seats to their upright positions."

As those words were announced again in English, the plane descended rapidly.

- Don't be afraid. The plane will land in a moment. Cheering myself up, I looked out the window and saw the city of Marseille approaching. Small houses lined up next to each other, blue circles, squares, and ovals.